The Miscellaneous Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
by Pricycle Bicycle
Summary: A sherlock holmes case and some wacky antics from other characters. Sherlock, John, Irene, Hudson, Molly etc. I was contemplating doing a sequel for one of my previous Sherlock fics and this can be interpreted as a sequel if you want (probably no references). I had to keep Irene in though because I deeply love her.
1. Chapter 1

**The Miscellaneous Adventures of Sherlock Holmes**

**I was initially thinking of a sequel to previous Holmes fics but this can be interpreted either way (although I have included Irene Adler because, lets face it, she's awesome and also someone needs to make innuendos around here. Anyway…here is the possible sort of sequel maybe to "Beaten" and or "The Fourth Visitor". Sorry if it takes a while to get going. (I don't own any of the characters ****despite my persevering demands****.)**

Chapter 1

John shivered. London had once more brought a freezing winter to its streets and of course, Sherlock had made it his mission to piss off John as much as possible, so naturally, they had both ventured (some a little more easily than others) outside in search of god knows what.

"It's bloody freezing out there, I'm not staying out any more!"

"It's only six o'clock John, we've been out for forty-five-"

"Either come in or close the door" John said curtly, rubbing his hands together. He proceeded up the stairs with the intention of lighting the fire when he saw a note on the floor. Mrs Hudson's flamboyant handwriting met his eyes with a small, rectangular card taped to the back of the note;

_This was left at the door for you. Tell Sherlock to use the zip-lock bags on the kitchen table I bought him next time he's looking at fingernails xx _

John rolled his eyes and looked at the card on the other side;

_Charlie Milverton Appledore Towers_

_Journalist Hampstead_

John was about to hand the card to Sherlock until he saw him open the violin case. _This can wait until the morning. _He tossed the card onto the desk and sat down at his laptop whilst Sherlock imitated a banshee strangling a cat. On his violin.

Two hours later John was finishing off the latest blog article; "The Silver Blazer" and Sherlock had, thankfully, retired to his bedroom. John stretched and his stomach rumbled. He was hungry but he doubted there was any food in. Sleep deprivation eventually got the better of him and he sloped off, up to his bedroom, unaware that Charlie Milverton's card had gone.

"The greatest man in London…" Sherlock scrolled down the internet page on Charlie Milverton. Like many arrogant professionals he had a website detailing his articles and, most prominently, the uncovered scandals. The back of the card had said "6:30". Sherlock's estimations of the interest of this upcoming case were low now. Men who liked to be in control often provided many words and little information. Sherlock had also gathered, judging from the font, that he would be a considerable nuisance until his business was sorted. The last thing Holmes needed was another Mycroft.

Another cold morning dawned and John left soon after six to buy breakfast due to his growling stomach.

It hadn't occurred to Sherlock that by 6:30, Milverton meant am, but sure enough, about five minutes after the seventh clock strike of the day, (John had set it half an hour early so he would never again be late for a date because the noses needed dissolving), there was a loud knock at the front door.

Grudgingly, and because Mrs Hudson and John were both out, Sherlock paced down the stairs in his blue dressing gown and opened the door.

A fat, bald man greeted him baring an insincere smile and a laptop under one arm.

"Mr Holmes" he extended a hand, to which Sherlock responded by walking back up the stairs and sprawling himself across an armchair. Milverton quickly followed suit, with more grace.

"I'm guessing this is a bad time?"

"Yes."

"Well just listen."

"…"

"I take it you've heard of Eva Brackwell? Recently in the papers about her alleged affair"

"I believe your exact words were "scandalous adultery of the jezebel Eva Brackwell, fiancé of the Earl of Dovercourt."

"In my business it pays to be dramatic."

Sherlock looked at the ceiling "It pays a considerable amount judging by the cheque book in your inner left pocket. What do you want me for?"

"You're a big hearted man Mr Holmes. All the people you've helped" Sherlock's eyes flicked to the jam jar of hearts in the sink, "You'd understand that a woman's rightful place is with her fiancé?"

"From my experience, a woman's rightful place is behind bars."

Milverton's right lip slid up his face. Sherlock guessed he was single. "She owes me Mr Holmes. A small sum to keep any compromising emails from reaching the Earl. £70000 is a difficult price to meet but a fair one."

"For an affair? Hardly worth that amount even for-"

"You know someone such as yourself leads an interesting life. Surely you'd permit someone, qualified, to document your investigative work as opposed to that doc-"

"What do you want me for?" Sherlock repeated.

"I want you to see her. Today. Tomorrow's the 18th and if she hasn't paid up by then she can say goodbye to her marriage."

Sherlock was bored and he stood up. "I'm not a relationships councillor or a tax man. Good morning." He moved forwards, forcing Milverton to stand too.

"You're good with people, unless your reputation is based on false claims."

_Hit him hit him hit him._

With all the strength he could muster, Sherlock walked passed him and held open the door "I'll see what I can do Mr Milverton."

"Wonderful!" He walked slowly through the threshold, observing every object in the flat within his peripheral vision, then finally, left.

"Moron." Sherlock was just about to reclaim his chair when he thought; _A man surrounded by scandal. An oncoming day of boredom. A possible case. Worth a look._

He thought about waiting for John but he doubted this case would take long.

Sherlock opened the front door and stepped out into the rain and the frosty street, dressed as a repair man. Instead of going straight to the Brackwell residence Sherlock took a cab to Appledore Towers, where an ostentatious office building stood. He walked through the glass revolving door, and walked to the reception desk.

"I'm looking for a Charlie Milverton. Some problem with his laptop again" Sherlock spoke through his false moustache with a northern accent that would be difficult to place for anyone tracking the detectives movements. The ginger receptionist was focussed on Angry Birds but quickly looked up, "Milverton? Fifth floor. You know I need a little repair work done at my-"

"Thank you" Sherlock, or rather, Stan as it said on his name tag, quickly sloped off to the lift. He stabbed a finger at the number 5 button and wooshed upwards.

The doors opened to a small grey corridor with tacky furnishings and broken lamps. Stan walked to the end of the corridor where a small plaque read: Charlie A Milverton. As expected, when he tried the door it would not open. Stan bent down and produced a variety of lock picks from his belt, and after a few clicks, the door unlocked.

The office was small and cramped. There was a rotting apple and a cold cup of coffee on the desk and some painkillers spilling out the bottle on the floor. Charlie had pinned each of his published articles onto the wall facing the door and the frayed curtains were falling apart.

"Nice place." Sherlock smirked a little despite the condition of his own living quarters.

Sherlock knew from the way Milverton had carefully hidden the laptop from view when they met that it would be of some importance. The computer on the desk was clearly not the laptop but they may be something useful on the hard-drive.

At eight thirty Sherlock's phone buzzed. It buzzed several more times after that but he was too busy for John right now.

Sherlock clicked on a file of unpublished articles and was reading through one about the kidnapping of some triplets when he heard footsteps. It was hard to tell at this distance but is smelled like Milverton. As quickly as he could, Sherlock pressed the off button until the monitor went black and then scurried behind one of the curtains.

"If you have these emails from the Countess then obviously I'll have to look at them before I pay up, sweetheart" the journalist entered in front of a small woman in a long coat with the hood pulled over her face who waved away the smoke from Milverton's cigarette. "I don't see why his whole thing's gotta be so secretive anyway" He opened a drawer in his desk and wrote down a few details of the emails. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Brackwell, Mr Milverton." Eva lowered her hood, revealing a handsome face with a stony expression. "You tried to ruin my life Charlie. All this shit written about me because of three texts to my friend." Charlie smirked.

"Eva I only did what was best for you and your fiancé. Besides, I know you're only marrying him for his money." Sherlock waited. Milverton would get his just desserts and Sherlock wasn't overly enthusiastic to help him.

"Last time I came in here you laughed in my face! You knew I didn't have the money you wanted and you knew I couldn't tell anyone about this!"

"Cool it dear, the world isn't a perfect place. Some day you'll realise why I was right to-"

Sadly Milverton said not more. It may have been because of the ballpoint pen lodged in his neck or it may have been the stunned look of surprise that left his mouth gaping. Either way, an expression of relief, shock and panic spread over the face of Eva Brackwell as she removed her hand from the pen. Milverton stumbled backwards onto the floor and made gargling noises for a while. He tried to claw for the door but he ran out of energy rapidly and finally stopped moving.

Blood pooled on the carpet and Eva backed away looking behind her for any sign of witnesses. She pulled the door shut with her handkerchief and Sherlock heard quickened footsteps get fainter.

He looked down at the body and nudged him out the way. "He does love to be dramatic…" Sherlock shut the door behind him and left the building, only getting stopped by the receptionist who gave him his pone number.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

News had travelled fast of the successful journalist Charlie Milverton being found dead in his own office. John had correctly speculated that he had been killed for involving himself in "a lot of sensitive business". Sherlock merely nodded, and continued bouncing a squash ball off the walls of their flat. He hadn't bothered to tell John why he had returned yesterday, dressed as a repair man. John hadn't been entirely surprised anyway. The detective felt what was closest to indifferent sympathy for Milverton's own victims and had refused the murder case from Lestrade. Now, he was bored again.

"Why are you making a cake John?" Sure enough, John stood in the cleanest, organless area of the kitchen, his arms and jumper covered in flour, mixing some sweet gloop in a bowl.

"It's…Mary's…birthday in…two days…" He wiped some sweat away from his forehead, spreading more flour over his face as he did so.

"And?"

"People sometimes do nice things for people to prove they like them, Sherlock."

"People sometimes do nice things for people they want to "get off" with, John."

John glared, "Yes thank you Sherlock Holmes, for your relationship advice. If you don't mind I'll stick to my experience as opposed to your-"

"Intelligence?"

"Not quite what I had in mind…"

"Well stop making so much noise. I'm going to bed."

"It's two thirty Sherlock."

"Your point?"

Before John could say anything, Sherlock had marched into his bedroom, slamming the door. John rolled his eyes. "Why do I even bother?"

"Shut up!"

"I'm not making any noise!"

"You're thinking! It's annoying!"

John kicked the wall. Sherlock threw something heavy against his own. John clanged two pans together. There was a thumb, a shatter and a yell from Sherlock's bedroom. John wasn't sure whether he was faking it or not but he opened Sherlock's door and peered in. He was slumped on his bed, covered in glass, his head bleeding. A large glass picture of the rules of baritsu having just fallen on it. John tried to keep a straight face but sniggered a little.

"Karma's a bitch, Sherlock."

"…help me John" Sherlock croaked, groaning in pain.

"It there any glass…in your head?" John moved forward and brushed some of the glass off him, revealing a few pieces of glass in his chest. Sherlock winced, wiping some blood off his face. John straightened up. "I think I better call an ambulance Sherlock."

"You're a doctor. Why can't you deal with it?"

"I don't have the right equipment here."

"I'll do it then."

"No no no you stay there and wait for me." John left the room and dialled 999. He then dampened some towels and mopped up most of the blood. With Mrs Hudson's hysterical assistance, they swept away most of the glass too.

The ambulance arrived and John heaved a reluctant Sherlock into it.

Sherlock opened his eyes, several hours later. He was sitting in hospital bed with clean white sheets and a jug of water next to him. His head was bandaged and a lot of his chest stung from antiseptics.

"Sherlock! You're awake." Mrs Hudson entered the room, John following on. "I brought you some brownies to help you get better."

"I'm not ill and how would brownies heal me Mrs Hudson?"

John intervened before Mrs Hudson could reply "Shame to see that blow to the head hasn't made you nicer". Sherlock scowled at him

"Even serious head injuries can only result in memory loss John. Being a doctor, you should-"

"I was joking." John looked stern so Mrs Hudson tried to lighten the mood.

"How about that murder Sherlock? Must be right up your street. No sign of forced entry. No witnesses. What a thrilling-"

"Oh sorry. Should I come back later or…" They all recognised the flustered voice behind them. John smiled. Mrs Hudson smiled. Sherlock sighed.

"Hello Molly. We were just talking erm…" Mrs Hudson nodded to Sherlock, "This one's just gone and hit his head on his fighting picture, poor thing."

"It was partly John's fault Mrs Hudson"

"No it wasn-!"

"Boys! Boys! Calm down. Why don't we all have a-"

"Nobody wants a brownie Mrs Hudson!"

"Shut up Sherlock"

"Maybe I should just-"

"No don't leave it's fine"

"Aren't you late for a job interview John?"

"How? No you know what? Never mind. Don't-"

"You've changed your shirt and tie since we were at the flat. Your hair is combed and you have a square bulge in your coat pocket. You wouldn't go around town with a résumé in your pocket by coincidence. You have a job interview."

"It's very clever how you can-"

"Spare me the pleasantries Mrs Hudson"

"Don't be rude Sherlock."

"I really think I should g-"

"No I'll go. I'm late anyway for my j-. I'll go. See you Mrs Hudson, Molly." John left and was soon followed by Mrs Hudson. "I better clear up your room Sherlock, the state it's in."

This left Molly and Sherlock alone. Sherlock saw Molly eyeing the brownies and poked it towards her. "Have one. I don't want them."

Molly blushed and laughed, then shook her head to herself and took one. Sherlock lay back and watched the ceiling in silence until Molly said "You haven't been to Barts in a while. Sorry. I didn't mean- No.."

"No cases have caught my eye recently. But it's nearly Christmas. Something's bound to happen soon."

"Oh Christmas? That's awful. Why would anyone want to…Christmas?"

"Statistically around 14% of homicides occur during the festive period."

"Oh."

Sherlock went back to looking at the ceiling but Molly was determined to break the awkward silence again.

"So what was your favourite case."

"I don't have a favourite"

"There must be one. One that was really really hard to solve? A murder on the tube, with a dozen possible witnesses?"

"I'll leave that to the Belgians."

"Pardon?"

"Did you need to talk to me about something Molly?"

Molly blushed again "I er…no…I just wanted to check…you know…that you were ok and everything…but actually I should go…I have a thing" She stood up, gathering herself together and then patted his shoulder. He winced. "Oh god! Sorry! Are you ok? Do you need something? Sorry. I can get a doctor to...oh no you're fine. Sorry I'm being silly. Sorry. Bye Sherlock..."

Sherlock watched her indifferently "Goodbye, Molly. Good luck with whoever it is you want to impress today."

She stopped, then hurried out, closing the door behind her, leaving Sherlock in the solitude he wanted. He lay back once more, collecting his thoughts and estimating how long it would take for him to escape this prison. He was still quite tired and he closed his. Then his phone moaned.


End file.
